The Language of Flowers
by kabukimono
Summary: While heading home from a Florem bar one night, Ringabel meets a pretty flower in the streets and gets to know her, in both his way and her own. Finding his heart conflicted over that budding relationship, and his deep love for Edea, he attempts to find a balance for both.


A note: This version of the fic has been greatly sanitized to keep the rating at a T. The full, spicier version of it can be found on my Tumblr.

This fic explores Ringabel's relationship with a young woman in Florem while also trying to keep true to his feelings of love for Edea. I'm not sure if that type of fic would be well-received, so this is here as a feeler. I do have the entire thing planned out; in the end it may be quite extensive and painful for him.

But who doesn't like Ringabel's pain?

* * *

Florem, the country of flowers. Pretty, lovely flowers, he thought giddily. Pretty, lovely flowers that enticed him with their lovely scents… and their lovely booze. It was like a city that never slept, and so Ringabel never slept either, staying out on many nights late so that he could drink and socialize. Gather information, he liked to claim, had this not been the third time their group first set foot into the land. They were familiar with it by now.

Ringabel hummed to himself as he walked slowly along, a tuneless sound that served only to fill the quiet night, and help him focus so that he didn't stumble drunkenly about, unseemly! At this late hour, there was hardly anyone in the streets, save for women and men like himself who were heading home from the numerous bars that the city offered. Now and then, as he stumbled along, he thought he spotted young women leaning against buildings, hiding in the shadows while they waited to be approached by the travelers who frequented Florem.

Seeing those girls made him frown. While they may have been a been a bit more painted and made up than his preference, it still troubled him that anyone would have to resort to such drastic measures in order to survive. And yet, there was a part of him that felt it was familiar, though it should not have been. After all, Florem had been a nation that had followed Crystalist ideals. Perhaps makeup and hair dye and Florie hairpins were expensive, and ladies had to resort to desperate measures, but in the past… what had there been…?

His head ached thinking about his past. It was something that he still was not keen on facing. He was already going to have a headache from his drinking, he did not need a headache due to thinking too much on top of that.

Unfortunately, he should have thought, because his next action was to walk up to the nearest young lady that he noticed hanging out near an alleyway. As he approached her, he looked her over- she was attractively full figured, with long, tumbling hair and clothing that seemed slightly inappropriate for the weather. The skirt was short, the edges of the linen folded up to mid-thigh, leaving a large swath of her legs uncovered before her stockings started just above her knees and leading to high-heeled boots that looked a mite uncomfortable to stand in. Her bodice looked like sturdy, reliable leather that hugged her waist, but her top also seemed to be made of linen, the neckline of it folded and curled and deep, right above her cleavage. Her arms were bare, though she did have a thin shawl draped around her shoulders that she clutched tightly around her.

No, that absolutely wouldn't do. He had do something about her.

"Hello my dear," he said as he approached, attempting to sound cheerful, and ignoring the slight slur to his words; surely he wasn't that drunk! "How are you? It's a good evening, isn't it?"

The woman eyed him, taking a step back on the sidewalk. "What do you want?" It seemed she had dealt with her fair amount of drunken men, either tonight or before, but he wasn't the same, was he? Ringabel peered down closely at her, trying to focus on her face and not the large amount of cleavage she was displaying. Her large eyes were a very pretty shade of cobalt, surrounded by long lashes, and they seemed almost alien on a face that was pale and tired in the lamplight. A plump mouth frowned at him, her arched and overplucked eyebrows furrowing as she waited for him to answer. Strands of her purple-dyed hair curled over her chin, and over her shoulders, down her chest and - he looked back up into her eyes with a slight smile… then realized he hadn't yet answered her.

"Not what you think," he declared, raising his own eyebrow at her. "I just want to … talk." He cleared his throat, hoping to chase out some of the smell of alcohol on his breath.

She looked astonished for a moment, black eyebrows rising into lilac hair, before her expression settled back down. "'Talk'", she said, the quotations practically visible in her voice. "You just want to talk."

Ringabel nodded, firm on this. "Have you eaten? We could get something, if you would like."

The girl growled in frustration, looking past him and shifting restlessly on the heels of her boots. "This is a waste of my time," she told him. "Go away."

"There's hardly anyone else around." It was the middle of the night, after all. Too late for nighttime activities, but not early enough for businesses to begin opening. He had seen other men wandering around, but like him, they had been heading for their inns. He doubted she'd get another customer, if she'd had any earlier in the night.

"Coffee then," he decided when she didn't reply. He could spare enough for coffee and a good meal. "You must be freezing."

It was early winter in Florem, and while the region was usually somewhat warm this time of year, at night there could be a chill. He knew - had known - that chill well, many years ago, and it made him glad he was wearing his jacket. She should have known the chill well as well; he couldn't imagine why she was out without better protection from the elements!

She glanced sidelong at him, but still remained silent. He pushed on, the booze still lingering his system giving him courage. "If you come and talk to me, I'll pay you for your time. Your time and nothing else, I swear it." Hand on his heart. He wouldn't pay a woman for her 'services', but her time was different, wasn't it? Unlike the last time, when he had accidentally asked a working girl out, he knew how to handle her fees. It would be like a date, just a date that was a tad more expensive.

"Fine," she said immediately. "It's a base two hundred pg for a half hour."

Ringabel nodded. He could do that. He held his hand out to her. "Shall we be off, then?"

After a moment's hesitation, she laid her slender, cold fingers in his.

Her name, he learned, was Camelia. At least, that was the name that she gave him as they walked through the alleys toward a coffeehouse that she said was open throughout the night. She was 20, unmarried, and she had a younger sister she was currently supporting after their mother had passed away six months earlier from illness. She worked two jobs, including her "night job", and odd jobs on top of those so that she could pay her sister's education and keep a roof over their heads.

"You've had a hard time of it," he said sympathetically as the two of them sat on some crates with steaming cups of coffee. She had refused to enter the establishment with him, claiming that she didn't want to be seen by anyone she knew, and had waited for him several stores down before leading him to a trash collection area. It smelled, but if he put the cup under his nose, he barely noticed. "Still, I'm impressed by your spirit."

"It's nothing," she replied, staring down into the cup she cradled in her hands. He had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders, but she still looked quite cold.

"No, no it's true," Ringabel insisted with a flourish of his hands. "You are a good, dutiful daughter and sister, wanting only what is best for others and not yourself. You are truly a beautiful person, inside and out."

The dim streetlamps barely lit up her face, but he was certain she was flushing. "Be quiet, you," she threatened, though her lips twitched. "There is hardly anything beautiful about me, especially with this dye in my hair - it attracts customers, but doesn't it clash terribly?"

"That is a tragedy," he agreed. He knew how horrible those dyes were, not just in color but in formula, and that worried him for her. "You should grow it out. Natural is better, they'll see."

She took a sip of her coffee instead of replying to him. Rather than deal with awkward silence, he did the same. Ah, coffee. It was helping him sober up.

… and he was starting to hope that none of his friends were going to wonder where he was and come looking for him. It might be hard to explain why he was keeping company with a beautiful lady of the night.

"And what about you?" Camelia asked him once a third of her cup was drained. "You said you only wanted to talk, but what are you really after? What do you want?"

"I truly mean only to talk," he argued. "I see a beautiful woman in distress and I must come to her aid!"

"Ah," she said, as though understanding, and she took another long drink with a knowing smile aimed at him over the rim. "That's what you're into. The roleplay. You'll want me to thank you later."

"It is not roleplay! I swear to you that I am not interested in … in sex," he finally hissed, and he hated how she smirked at his blush. "I mean what I say. I'm a lover and defender of women world over. I grew up in Florem. I've seen my fair share of people down on their luck."

… he'd said too much, hadn't he? Her face showed shock.

"You grew up in Florem? But you're a man!" She looked him over, as though wanting to check, and he found himself having to intercept a curious hand, hastily pushing it back over to her side.

"I am a man - and I was born one. But I was also born here, in Florem. Surely this cannot be all that surprising to you." Not if she was from the poor areas of the city.

Camelia withdrew to hold her coffee cup once more. "No, it isn't," she confessed. "I've known plenty of girls who've had boy babies, and I've seen some of the urchins running around. Boys aren't supposed to be here, but it's hardly possible to keep them all out."

"Right." His headache was coming back again. He drank some more coffee.

"It's just - I've never heard of any of our boys surviving to adulthood, is all." She was looking him over once again. "You look healthy… clean… handsome. It's hard to believe you're from here."

"I left," Ringabel said slowly, because even he wasn't sure if that's how it happened. He had only just begun to regain his memories, and dwelling on them too much only gave him pain. Pain he didn't want to experience right now, not in this company, and not when he hadn't had enough to drink to deal with it. "Many, many years ago."

"That explains it," she nodded. "Boys do leave, I've heard. Most of them don't come back, and who can blame them?" She shook her head as though thinking of why anyone would want to return to a place that held such painful memories for them. Ringabel had to agree, but sometimes things were more important than one's own comfort. She should know that.

They were both comfortably silent for a while before Camelia spoke again. "My mother had a boy, you know. Well, you don't know. He was younger than me though. She never told me what became of him, if she knew. She didn't like to talk about him much."

"I would imagine your story is not uncommon," Ringabel said, more to himself than to her. He remembered more than a few young boys in the same slums that he had spent his childhood in. They had banded together for survival at times, fought each other for resources at others. What had become of those boys, he wondered. Had they become men and left for better countries, or had they died a painful, lonely death in Florem? Did he want to know? "After all, it's natural to have boy children world over."

"You're right," she agreed, sipping at her coffee. "I know plenty of girls who've had boys; my best friend just had a baby boy. It's not as taboo now as it used to be, luckily, but I think Florem… still has a long way to go." She trailed off in thought, looking off into the distance.

"Most girls I've met have embraced the new Florem," he commented, confused. His girlfriends - ex-girlfriends - had enjoyed the new fashion conscious city. They had raved about the changes and how it made their lives easier. He knew the underlying toxins beneath it, of course, but had thought that with all the advances and innovations, the region was overall improving in most ways. Certainly, on the surface it was much more friendly to all.

Camelia smiled wryly at him. "Most girls you've met probably aren't working girls, selling themselves just to get by, because half the Crystalist temples that offered charity have closed, and the other half have become clothing stores."

He winced. She was right, of course. He remembered that the largest employer and support of the people had been the Crystalist temples. They had taken donations from the better-off to give to those less fortunate, and helped find work for those who needed it. Where had that network gone, if the religion had been run out by the Blood Rose Legion? The increased number of the desperate made sense. "You've a point," he conceded, then tried to change the subject. "What is your other job?" He hoped it wasn't something just as desperate.

"Tailor," she replied promptly, and proudly. "My mother taught me how to sew, so I work at Miss Cinnamon's Sew and Tell with a load of other girls, and we make adjustments and repairs on clothes."

"That's hard work." Ringabel was impressed. Edea knew how to sew too, but they were so busy that she didn't do much of it. Still, he'd seen Edea make repairs on clothing and sew her own dresses now and then - it took time and effort and patience that she didn't always have. "It doesn't pay well?"

"No, well… the shop owner takes most of the fees per our contract. And then we only get paid for the amount of clothes that we finished that week, so there's never a guarantee how much you'll get. Still, it's fun, and we get discounts on cloth, so I make clothes for my sister and myself. I made my dress, you know." She leaned back so that he could admire it, jutting out her chest slightly as she arched her back and posed.

He tried not to make his admiration of her chest overt, though his eyes did linger for the smallest of moments on the curves that he could see hidden under the linen. "It's nicely made," he replied. "Though a bit… scarce."

"It's like that for a reason," she said, rolling her eyes at him. But there was a slight smile on her face all the same as she toyed with a lock of her bright hair. "I can use the folds to adjust the length and the neckline. In case a city guard comes around, and I need to duck into indoors and look almost respectable."

"You are respectable," Ringabel told her. "You're a pretty young lady, and you have a good heart. It's your personality and not your job that defines who you are."

The look Camelia gave him was almost pitying. "Oh, Ringabel. You're a strange man, aren't you?"

"I am not," he insisted, a bit offended. "It's true! It's not always a person's actions that make them respectable, especially when those actions were made as the result of having little choices. You've done what you felt is best for your sister, and it can't have been an easy decision. Your intentions are what matter, at least to me."

Camelia did not reply to him immediately, and he worried that he may have offended her with his insistence. He felt it was certainly true - unlike other women who may have sold themselves to gain money for material items or drugs, she was doing it for someone else's gain, and not her own. In his book, that made her a good person, albeit someone who had fallen on hard, hopeless times.

The woman's cup was almost empty, and she set it down so that she could use one of the folds at her neckline to dab at her eyes. He worried even further; he hadn't meant to make her cry. "It's nothing," she said, when she noticed his gaze. "It's just that - no one worries about each other anymore here, in Florem. Every woman for herself, and all in the pursuit of beauty. You are very odd here, and not just because you're a man. I've never met anyone quite like you."

He could hardly tell her that he was working with the Wind Vestal, and that Agnes wanted to change the deplorable morals that had ran rampant in the region, a goal he supported with all his soul. Instead, he took a deep breath. "It will get better, I promise," was all he could say, trying to sound sure of himself. Once they cleaned up Florem and removed the terrible poison that the Blood Rose Legion was, the community would begin to heal and help one another again. He hoped.

"Maybe some day. I'm putting money into savings, so… maybe one day I won't have to do this anymore." Her arms wrapped around her knees, and she leaned over, his jacket slipping down her small shoulders.

"I'm sure you won't," he assured her, attempting to flash her his best, widest smile. "Perhaps one day you'll even open up your own shop."

She returned that smile to him, wistful and sad. "My mother used to say the same thing. It was a dream of hers, ever since she was young. She had us, instead."

His heart was breaking. He never liked to see any woman sad if he could help it. It was ingrained in him to help all those damsels in distress, to see smiles on pretty faces. Here was a woman whom he could not help, not for long, not permanently. She may have coffee now and warmth, and a friendly person to speak to, but he knew tomorrow night she'd be back on the streets, trying to earn money with her body. He wished there was something more he could do.

"I'm… sure of it." He found his voice to speak, only to weakly repeat himself. He swallowed and tried again. "With your good heart and your perseverance, you will have that shop of yours, my dear Camelia. Perhaps not now, or soon but… someday. Someday, you'll be able to pursue what you truly desire."

She was quiet, looking down at her knees.

It was getting late, he realized after they had sat in silence for some time. Or early, depending on how one looked at it.

"Here."

Ringabel finally pulled his wallet out of his pocket and rifled through it. Immediately, Camelia reached into her bodice and retrieved a small purse.

Feeling a bit indecent over it, only imagining how blackened Edea would think he was if she were to see him now, he emptied his wallet out into his hand, counting out the pg. Tiz only gave him so much to spend freely every week, and he'd spent most of it already on drink and clothes. Still, there was more than enough for her hourly fee - he wondered how long they had been talking - and with plenty to spare.

"Here," he said again, handing the pg in his hand to her. She brought it close and counted it out; he watched her full lips move as she said the numbers aloud. "This will go toward opening that shop of yours, won't it?" She needed it more than he did; he could go without drinking for a few days.

When she looked up at him, her eyes were shiny in the streetlights. "You're such an odd man, Ringabel… are you certain you want to give all of this to me?"

He swallowed. Had she ever asked a customer of hers if he was certain about his payment before? "I am sure." He nodded firmly. "It's all yours."

She slid the money into her purse, and he noted that her hands were shaking as the purse was pushed back into its hiding spot in her bodice. "Thank you," she finally said after a few moments. "Truly, thank you. When you approached me earlier I thought you would be just another foolish drunkard, but you're a much better person than that. Do you have a girlfriend?"

The question caught him entirely off guard. In the middle of finishing up his coffee, Ringabel inhaled sharply on his swallow, winced, then coughed, covering his mouth with a hand to keep from spraying her. He hacked as he tried to clear his airways, turning away and letting that good coffee dribble on the ground. What a mess.

"Ringabel!" Camelia was on her feet, dabbing at him with a handkerchief she had produced from the folds of her skirt. Her other hand was pushing his shoulder to get him to straighten up. He shook his head, eyes watering, as he tried to regain some dignity.

"M'fine," he choked out, pushing her hand away. His fingers closed over hers; they were much warmer now. "Just - I'm fine."

The woman's face was red as she pushed the handkerchief at him once more. He took it from her to mop his face. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's nothing," he said, swallowing. His throat felt off, scalded by the coffee going down far too quickly. He'd have to be careful not to strain it until he could drink a potion. "I was… distracted." Yes, distracted. Great answer. He glanced at her.

Her face was red, and a lovely blush had spread across her chest as well. She noticed him looking, and crossed her arms, pushing her cleavage up in the process. "You are easily distracted, it seems."

He sincerely hoped that she didn't think the money he had just given her was for anything but her time and companionship. "As to your question," he started, changing the subject before she could accuse him of having anything less than pure and honest intentions, "I am currently not seeing anyone."

"Oh."

"I… don't feel I can," he confessed. At least, he didn't feel he could right now. He'd had plenty of girlfriends in Florem before, but that had been months ago. A whole world ago, what felt like a lifetime now, when he had been fully ignorant as to his past and his ties to the country, and when he hadn't worried about Edea falling to a monstrous beast, or his friends dying because of his failures, or the world being destroyed if he were to slip in his duties. While he had previously made it quite clear to any and all girls he dated that the group were in Florem temporarily, he had also promised to devote himself entirely to his current girlfriend while they were together.

He didn't think he could promise that any longer. It wouldn't be fair to the girls, and it wouldn't be fair to the friends he loved dearly.

Besides, he could still be an admirer of women, even if he wasn't in a committed relationship.

"Why is - oh, I won't ask," Camelia decided, shaking her head. "We all have our reasons, don't we? For what we do, though we may loathe it."

His breath quickened for the briefest of moments. She understood, of course she understood. And while it was tempting, he knew that she deserved a man who would truly love her, support her, and care for her for longer than the few weeks than he would be in town. She would find that man some day, and Ringabel would be glad for her. Still, it was hard to deny the urge to leap to protect her, to promise her the world as he had done in the past to other women.

"While I'm in town," he finally said, and she perked up. "While I'm in town, perhaps you and I can meet for coffee on other occasions? In the daylight this time, perhaps. Or at night again, if you would like."

He paused.

"Coffee only. I don't pay women for their services."

Just to clear up any misunderstandings.

She smiled at him, a true smile this time, one that was gracious and sincere and made his heart ache in his chest. "I would like that. Thanks, Ringabel." She tugged his jacket tightly around herself for a moment before slipping it off her shoulders and handing it back to him. "I should begin to head back home, though. It's nearly dawn, and I need to change for the shop."

"I'll escort you," he said as he pulled his jacket back on, leaving it open in the front for now. "It's hardly safe for such a beautiful young lady to walk alone at night."

Camelia laughed and rolled her eyes warmly at him, causing his heart to flutter strangely, before she took his offered arm in her hands. "An escort home, too? I am becoming respectable, aren't I?"

"Every day a bit more," he said cheerfully, covering one of her hands with his own. "Lead the way, dear."

Together, they headed off into the darker parts of the area that he felt he may know quite well. Older and dirtier, and more worn, it was the part of the city where the less fortunate lived, and where tourists never ventured. Though their voices were quiet in attempts to stave off any attention, they chatted amicably about the weather and the plants as they strolled, as though this were an early evening walk in the park instead of an early morning escort after a night out. While he couldn't see the horizon, this deep in the city's walls, the sky overhead was lightening to a paler shade of blue. Dawn couldn't be that far off. He hoped he could get some sleep before his friends roused; his head still ached dully.

"Thanks for the coffee," Camelia said when they reached their destination, a small shack in a neighborhood on the outskirts of the slums. Small but sturdy, it was surrounded by others very similar, with a number worn into the wooden doorframe. "I have to go to work soon, so it'll help." Her hands dropped from his arm, and she pulled away from him with a smile.

"The pleasure was all mine," he said with a slight bow as the woman pulled out a key from her bodice. He waited for her to get inside, only for her to pause as she unlocked the door to the shack.

"Is it? … Is it truly?" Looking around the area, as though searching for nosy neighbors, she suddenly grabbed his hand, and before he could shout in surprise, she had pulled him indoors. Heat immediately rushed to his head, building as she closed the door behind him and practically pressed him against it. He looked at her confused and concerned. Her face was lit only by the scant light coming through the dusty windows.

"W-wha? Camelia, I - " his protest was shushed with a finger as her other hand caressed the front of his trousers, sparking further heat both in his face and his groin. He'd meant what he'd said about not wanting her services. He would never degrade any woman in such a way…

"You paid for the coffee, and for the talk," she said, smiling. "This is free." When her finger slipped away, he meant to argue, to insist that she didn't need to use her body to repay him, but in an instant her lips were over his and the protest died. He groaned into her mouth as her tongue quested against his lips, seeking passage. He granted it after the slightest hesitation, meeting her tongue with his own as their bodies pressed together against the flimsy door. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so close to another person, and he was only human.

"This wasn't what I set out to do," he murmured against her lips when they broke for air. She was unbuckling the front of his pants for him, her fingers deft as she made quick work of the belt and buttons. Her fingers brushed against a growing bulge as she worked to reveal it and he shivered. "I mean it when I say I didn't pay for this."

"I know you do," Camelia replied, kissing him again with a smile. This time her lips lingered against his longer, sucking on his bottom lip before she drew away. His tongue flickered out to catch hers; he felt dazed, foggy. "It's been a long time since anyone made me feel worth anything, Ringabel. You've done so much for me tonight, let me do this for you. Please."

How could he possibly resist to such a tender request? No, he had to resist, at least somewhat. "No sex," he murmured as he initiated the kiss this time, raising his hands to cup her face. Their tongues curled and twisted together for a long moment, their lips moving eagerly together. She leaned into his touch, her fingernails stroking up the clothed sides of his bulging erection and he lost his voice. "No intercourse," he managed to moan when he could, his teeth clacking against hers. He didn't want to go that far, wanted to save that for a certain someone.

She nodded her agreement, leaned her forehead to his and smiled.

"You didn't need to do this," he argued once she had finished, helping her hand with an outreached hand despite the fact that true exhaustion was beginning to overtake him. All he wanted to do was sleep. He'd been up all night and now this... his friends were going to give him hell once he collapsed back at the inn, and he would never be able to explain it.

"I didn't," she agreed, pushing some of her disheveled hair away from her face and smiling bashfully at him. He found it hard to believe the same woman had been on her knees before him just moments ago. "But Ringabel… you say I should pursue what I want, so… is it alright if this was what I wanted?"

He had said that, hadn't he? His eyelids felt heavy, and his head felt light in the aftermath of his orgasm. At least it no longer ached. "Yes," he decided, with a slow blink, and fought a yawn as he cradled her face with one hand.

Camelia's smile was brilliant in the dim light of the dawn peeking through the windows. "Maybe I'll want to do it again some other time. But I think you need to sleep now. Goodnight, Ringabel. You'll know where to find me."

Buckling up his underwear and pants, Ringabel kissed his new friend goodbye one last time before leaving, glancing around the area quickly to ensure he could stay at least somewhat out of sight before he staggered off to the inn, his friends, and blessed sleep.

Of all the pretty flowers in Florem, he would certainly remember this one.


End file.
